Lost Letters
by Silent Nacht
Summary: Everything he never said. Letters written to England by America after the Revolutionary War.


Details/Notes: I wrote something fitting for Valentine's Day without even meaning to. I guess the spirit of the holiday infected me. I like the idea of undelivered letters, and America/England is one of my favourite pairings, although this can (probably should) read strictly as gen. It's set between 1787 and 1860-ish, and incorporates aspects of the history of the time, though this really isn't a historical fanfic. I could keep going but this note is long enough, so I'll just add that reviews of any sort are loved, and my general disclaimer is on my profile.

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Lost Letters:

Everything he never said.

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America is less naïve now than he was before the war. He knows more about the world and his fellow nations, more about himself now that he finally has his independence, but even with all of that he can't let go of what England would call foolish optimism, because why would anyone want to live in a world without hope?

He hopes that England will forgive him for what he had to do. He hopes that someday they will be able to ally with each other as equals, rather than teacher and subordinate.

He hopes, mostly, that he isn't mistaken in still referring to England and Canada as his brothers.

His bosses, all four million or so of them, are fun to hang with, and America gets a kick out of just wandering around and talking to anyone and everyone, but it's still lonely on the opposite side of the world.

He doesn't know exactly what makes him write the first letter, well, not the first because he's written tonnes and tonnes of letters to England over the years, but the first that he doesn't send, that he can't send.

* * *

England,

I voted my new constitution into law the other day. I want t'say that you'd be proud of me, because it really is a mighty fine document, and the preamble is fun to sing and has lotsa long words that you'd just love, but I guess you wouldn't, since you still have your kings and queens, and you hate me now because I'm independent.

I like it, though, not the you hating me but the being independent. I can't even tell you how much of a rush that voting thing is. It's like eating enough candy to make you sick except you never do. I love it, I don't understand why anyone wouldn't want to do it.

Democracy is awesome!

Like I was saying though, a constitution. I have a good feeling about it, like it's really gonna work and stuff. It isn't perfect, but that's part of the beauty of it, 'cause I can change it anytime I want t'.

I hope you're doing okay out on your island, and don't laugh and scowl okay? Because it's true. I don't hate you. I know you hate me and maybe I deserve it, but you're still my – big brother.

Don't fall off a cliff and drown or something,  
United States of America

* * *

England,

I know you and France hate each other, have always hated each other, will always hate each other – whatever – but he helped me out during the war, and we've been trading with each other for kind of a long time now, so if you could – shut the fuck up and stay out of our business that would be great.

I already fought you once, okay, and I got what I wanted.

I don't want to fight again, but if I have to I'm not going to bother writing all those treaties to you like I did last time. I think you've proved that you don't care what I have to say. Even though you should. Haven't you heard me speak?

Didn't you pay attention last time?

I'm more experienced than Canada, and you know it. What the fuck has he ever done?

Don't do this.

Don't make me –

* * *

England,

I hate fighting him, I hate how you managed to pit us against each other. Do you get off watching it?

I guess the burn scars are okay, so long as me and Canada still match. Twins, didn't you used to call us? Twin faces and twin scars, maybe, but that subordinate fucker is _nothing_ like me.

I'm going to win, y'know?

Just like last time.

Fuck you,  
United States of America

* * *

England,

I guess it's back to the same old thing now, you hatin' me and neither of us talking to each other. I guess I should hate you too, because of the wars, and the way you still won't acknowledge me, but I still don't think I can. I mean, what's the point of hating anything?

I don't like hate.

I'd force everyone to get along if I could, but that still wouldn't work 'cause see? People have to be able to chose, even if it's the wrong choice sometimes. I'm beginning to think I made some wrong choices somewhere along the way, but I can't really agree on which choices were the wrong ones.

I said to you when we were at war that all people everywhere are created equal, but that's not –

Is it?

I don't know what I meant. I just –

I haven't told anyone, but sometimes I have dreams now that – scare me. I wake up and I can't remember where I am. I wake up in different places – Louisiana and Virginia. I wrote in one of these letters that the beautiful thing about the constitution is that I can change it, but now I can't agree on what to change and my head hurts so much.

It hurts even more than before the war when my people were split, yours and mine, Loyal and Rebel. I don't want that to happen again. I wish – you were here.

Because you still have an answer for everything, don't you?  
United States of America

* * *

He doesn't write after that. It's too hard, and his head hurts so much that he can't see the paper in front of him let alone pick up the pen. He ends up putting all the letters into a box, and then shoving it into the attic with all of the other mementoes he should really sort through and get rid of, but can't.

He'll have England again someday, and maybe he'll finally deliver the letters. Until then, all he can do is hope.

It's what he does best, after all.

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End.

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End Notes: Thank you, everyone, for reading. Happy Valentine's Day~!


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